torn by JES, taped by MSC
double stripe “AIRMAIL” in lower right corner
from: Lt(jg) CR Cummins
USS LST 661
FPO San Fran. Cal.
To: Mr. and Mrs. CM Cummins
6109 Greenwood Ave.
Chicago, 37, Illinois
Postmarked: U.S. NAVY 25 JUL 1945 over 6¢ red airmail stamp
Censor: double stripe PASSED BY NAVAL CENSOR, initialed FHL (?)
Good morning, family,
It has been many days since my last letter you way. Our incoming mail finally arrived, including four letters from 6109—really enjoyed having them. I had the midwatch (midnight to 0400) last night so my writing is not going to be up to its usual superlative standard.
Enclosed are two pictures of your erstwhile son One was an “artistic” shot of Shockey’s, but you can observe me in the far distant background.
It has ben reasonable restful here. We are annoyed at least once a night by an enemy plane attack on the island. Most of the planes are shot down or chased away by our fighters.
We went to sea for several days to weather a severe storm—and had the two roughest days of all time for us—rough by virtue of angry waters.
I haven’t felt equal to accomplishing any tremendous works recently—just in the mood for rest.
Once again I inhabit my room by myself. Though the doctor was the best of company, nothing can equal this delightful solitude. My room could use a little paint, but other than that it is in good shape.
We haven’t seen anyone here that we knew—it is such a large island and there are so many different anchorages.
The tank deck is now fixed up for basketball and badminton—giving me some much-needed exercise. My waistline isn’t exactly what it was when I was sweet sixteen—may I can cut it down some.
One day Tom, the mailman, and I went ashore to make a long land trip to get our mail which was on a ship in another harbor. We had a number of transportation problems—it ended in being an all-day trip with very little food during the course of that day. However, it was most interesting—the natives, their homes, the hills filled with tombs. The roads were worse than those southeastern Ohio roads of the early thirties—when the old lizzies couldn’t make it up the hills. The Seabees are working day and night (I suppose there are Army engineers around, too) to rapidly improve the island.
We have movies each night in port—the ones here haven’t been very good.
My health is as good as ever, and, except for moments, my spirits too. I love you dearly—sending you much, much hugs and kisses—